Rise & Fall
by Sir Heroden
Summary: Looking back on it, he knows that it wasn't a heat of the moment thing. The intense mental pressure had been dragging him down for weeks now, and this was simply the last form that it was going to manifest in. - When Newt falls, his friends are there to lift him back up. A detailed, realistic and emotive take on Newt's attempted suicide. Three-shot. -
1. Chapter 1

**Part 1 of the story: 'Rise & Fall'. A tale of Newt's attempted suicide, told in the most realistic, detailed and emotive way. **

**Disclaimer: I do not own this story.**

~0~

Looking back on it, he knows that it wasn't a heat of the moment thing. No, it had been a long time coming. The intense mental pressure had been dragging him down for weeks now, and this was simply the last form that it was going to manifest in.

Oh shank, he was going to end his own life.

Newt felt that there was always going to be a part of himself that couldn't fully process it. Then he chuckled and slowly stood up straight from his previous sitting position. He was going to finish it all. Go out with a bang. Alby always said that he had a dramatic tendency, and Newt could only hope the he and Minho won't be too sad about what he had chosen to do. He shook his head to clear the traces of oncoming regret and steeled himself. Alby and Minho were the type of leaders that he wanted, but failed to be. They weren't going to miss their coward of a friend who wanted out in the easiest way. They might mourn him for a while, but they had each other, and the other Gladers to look after.

They were better off without him.

In fact, if he was lucky, they'd think he got lost and then stuck in the Maze when night came- maybe even think the Grievers had got to him. They might never know that he was a bloody coward.

As Newt looked down at the roughly twenty feet fall from the ledge that he'd clambered up, he wondered when it had started- when it was that he decided to completely give up on living.

It could have been a few weeks ago, when they'd welcomed the newest greenie. Alby, Minho, Gally, he and a few others were all there. They were the leaders of the Glade and the others just curious bystanders. The greenie was a tall, muscular boy strong enough to nearly drag Alby into the Cage when he had tried to help him out. The shank had gotten over his panic in a few moments and with his bright smile, the stupid newbie was the epitome of hope.

Alby and Minho clapped him on the back and welcomed him; while Gally buzzed around, no doubt hoping that the newcomer was going to be a builder. But Newt could only offer a nod and ignore the despair churning in his heart. The light in the greenie's eyes were going to be dimmed in a few weeks' time, when he realised that to hope was hopeless the Glade.

He couldn't sleep for the next few days. His mind was too turbulent with unwieldy thoughts, and there was a deep pit of despair just waiting for him to fall into. Or rather, he mused, perhaps he had already fallen in and just couldn't get out. Whenever his mind shifted towards sleep he'd been woken by images of the bloodied and pale bodies of the boys that they had lost. They taunted him, making his life a living nightmare.

After a while, it was just too bothersome to try catching a few winks, especially when a night of constantly waking tired him a lot more than not sleeping.

He'd sit outside when the others slept, wrapped in a rug and staring at the night sky, listening to the strange clanking of Grievers. The noise terrified him, but there was something dependable about reality- as disturbing as it was. When he was awake, he could just look back at the lights of the Homestead and see his friends, and the sight fuelled the small part of him that just refused to give it all up.

Minho excused him from running duty a few days later when he couldn't keep his food down.

Newt refused food for the next two or three days and then remembered collapsing in the gardens one afternoon. Alby told him that he was semi-conscious when they found him dragged his ass to the Med-bay. Jeff and Clint asked him a few questions, which he was too sick to answer. So they concluded that he probably had an upset stomach or a light case of food poisoning and warned Frypan to make sure all the food was probably cooked and cleaned before it was served in the future.

He had wanted to laugh then, but couldn't- he was too busy spewing his innards out. So he decided to make up for the laughter now, and he felt the first inklings of insanity as the strangely empty sound rang out across the Maze.

What he had was much more than a physical malady. It was the physical manifestation of hopelessness. He wasn't stupid- he could see the angry glances filled with blame that the other Gladers threw at him, Alby and Minho. As if not being able to get out the bloody Maze was their fault.

He just couldn't take that anymore.

They gave him some kind of plant to eat and Alby grinded up the leafy thing and made sure that he took the powder with hot water every morning.

Much good that did, Newt thought bitterly. He sure wasn't vomiting anymore, but for the next few days he was wracked with intense and periodical abdominal pains that he could only conquer by lying in his hammock and not moving for hours at a time when they struck.

One early morning after that he jerked awake suddenly and tumbled to the ground, drifting in and out of consciousness, drenched with sweat and limbed jerking uncontrollably. His midsection seemed to be on fire, and he moaned as his stomach was shot through with pains so severe that he wanted to scream.

Jeff and Clint only knew basic first aid, so he couldn't blame them, but in that incoherent moment, he swore at them mentally.

Newt shook his head angrily now, too lost in memories to feel the unnatural heat that was emanating from his skin, even though the cold air of the Maze was normally enough to chill a man to the bone.

He had shuffled his way over to Alby's hammock, and murmured his friend's name until he woke up. Alby took one pitying look at him, lifted him up as though he weighted nothing, and took him into the Med-Bay, where there were comfortable beds for him to lie in until the pain passed.

So he did, drifting in and out of sleep as Jeff and Clint tried to ease his pain. They heated water to fill a water bottle for him to hold over his sore stomach area under the covers. They worked to lower his fever, but nothing could ease his pain.

The next morning, he was sick all over again. Minho rubbed his back as he retched into a bucket and helped shift him into a comfortable position when he finished. He had never been more grateful towards his friends, but he had also come to a final conclusion.

It was perhaps at that moment, Newt now mused, that he realised that there was only one form of relief from their current suffering.

The Creators had never meant for them to escape- they were supposed to remain here for the rest of their lives, until they all became crazed beings ranting for an end to their torture. Or perhaps, all of this was a dream, and the only way to find a conclusion was to shock one's body so much that it came out of its trance and into the real world.

It certainly didn't occur to him then, or now, that his body, under extreme stress and burning with fever, was incapable of logical thought.

He simply took a deep breath and stepped into the empty air.

~0~

Minho glanced up at the sky.

The first tingles of red were just beginning to show. It was probably time to go back, he decided, it wouldn't do to be stuck in the maze at night.

If the Grievers didn't get him, well… Alby would berate him to death upon his return.

He took off, running along the route he knew so well. Left. Right. Left. Left. Right. A few more turns and he would be back in the Glade. The surroundings were so familiar now that his mind could run on autopilot. He chuckled absentmindedly to himself for a moment at the pun, before the soft laughter fell away.

He would have to face the desperate glances of his fellow Gladers when he got back. It seems that hope was something foreign these few days.

Strange, he thought, nothing had changed in their usual routine- as the Keeper of the Runners, he still authorised four runners to go into the Maze every day and search until dusk. But in light of their second year here coming to an end, the mood was just a bit more desperate and more depressed. He had heard rumours that some thought they just weren't ever going to get out of this place- this hell.

About a month ago, he, Newt and Alby had come together to a secret meeting in the woods. The issue of discussion was that the maze had been searched from bottom to top. Every inch of it had been explored and there was no sign of any clue as to how to get out. There were no other places to examine. All the patterns of movements have been mapped and confirmed through periods of observation, and there was no more actual work for the runners to be done.

Alby, as their leader, had been understandably angry. He ranted loudly and punched the table in frustration, saying that they had failed the others. Newt just stood by and not said much, unwilling to side with either of them, only backing Minho up about the technicalities of the Maze when needed. Their eyes met once over the temporary conference table and he was dumbfounded by the despair he saw there. Silence didn't mean acceptance with Newt, it seemed.

Adding to that, Gally had been following them around everywhere, demanding to be told the recent developments. Shank. He was just in charge of the builders, but Minho knew he was firing up the other guys, as if awaiting a confrontation. One that will never come- they needed to work together.

Minho took a deep breath and kept running. Something like a familiar voice echoed from the left, and he hesitated for a moment. It sounded like Newt, but that wasn't possible- he had ordered him to rest until he was feeling better. The voice didn't come again, and he shook his head to clear it. It wouldn't do for the Keeper of the Runners to be hearing voices.

He started jogging again, and his mind continued its line of thought.

A few days after the meeting, Newt had gotten sick. What of? Minho had no idea- he wasn't a doctor, but Jeff and Clint had deduced it to be a stomach bug. That, and a case of nerves, he personally thought.

At least it was all behind us now, Minho reassured himself, he would never need to feel worry gnawing his insides as he rubbed Newt's back while he vomited into a bucket, or watch as he dry heaved when there was nothing left to come up. Newt was getting better, and seemed to be sleeping peacefully when he checked this morning.

Finally, the runner burst through the exit to the Maze and dropped on to the ground, puffing heavily. The other three had already returned, from the sight of the three running packs on the grass, but Alby didn't look as relived at his homecoming as he normally did.

"Minho," Alby handed him a drink bottle, "Have you seen Newt?"

He took a deep gulp and savoured the taste of the cool liquid in his mouth. So great was the feeling that it took a moment for him to process what his friend just said. When he did, he almost choked. But he forced himself to swallow and got to his feet.

"No? What do you mean?"

Alby ran a hand through his hair and exhaled, "That shank. He's gone. Are you sure you didn't see him?"

"What do you mean- gone? Man, I was in the Maze all day." Minho said, "I have no idea where he is. Did you search the woods?"

"We've searched everywhere. I got Frypan, Clint, Jeff and Ben looking for him all day. There's nowhere he could be that we didn't search. Unless he got really good at hide and seek-"

The runner jerked upright suddenly and gripped his friend's arm, "Oh damn."

"What?"

"He's in the Maze." Minho said, his voice tensing at the realisation.

Alby meet his gaze, "No way. Why? I-"

"Shit!" Minho nearly tripped over in his haste, "I'm going back in. Get the other runners."

The leader of the Gladers stopped him with a firm hand, "How can you be sure?"

"It's a gut feeling."

Alby met his desperate gaze for a moment, scrutinising him from any sign of discomfort- madness even. "Alright. You're exhausted. Go back to the Homestead and get the Med-jacks and a few runners."

"I need to go find Newt!"

"No," the leader said as he unsheathed the knife strapped to his back, "I will."

Minho reared back in shock, "That's suicide! Alby, you don't even know the Maze. It's going to be dark soon. I should-"

But Alby was resolute. "No. I've seen the map of the Maze, I don't get lost. Now, I've given you an order. Go and carry it out."

The Keeper of the Runners hesitated for a moment. They had chosen Alby to be their de facto leader; there was no real reason to listen to his 'orders'. But then he paused, listening to his own rasping breathes and knew that he was nearly out of energy. Adrenaline was useful, but he wouldn't be able to fight or even carry Newt if he found him. He couldn't even subdue him if he had been stung.

"Fine. Go." He said, "But be careful. I'll be at the first intersection, call if you need help."

At that, his friend gave his shoulder a reassuring squeeze and sprinted into the Maze. That was all the confirmation that he needed. Minho was sure that everything would be alright- as long as he could keep that cynical and pessimistic part of himself at bay.

 _Find him,_ Minho urged mentally, _and bring him back._

~0~

 **AN: Newt has always been my favourite character in** **The Maze Runner Trilogy** **. I see a lot of depth in as a representation of the classic antihero, with a bit of a twist. Call this story a tribute if you like, or just an expansion on one of Newt's character details that defines his entire being. I've tried to make it a more interesting read by using some suspense (e.g. cliff hangers), and varying character viewpoints- hopefully capturing some attention and further exploring the characters of Newt, Minho and Alby.**

 **I will update in a few days. Please leave me a review with feedback!**

 **H.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Part 2** **of the story: 'Rise & Fall'. A tale of Newt's attempted suicide, told in the most realistic, detailed and emotive way that I can write. I hope you enjoy the story.**

 **Thanks for bearing with me and waiting for the update.**

 **~0~**

Alby was several hundred metres into the maze when he realised that he might have made a grave mistake.

He wasn't a runner, which meant he didn't know his way around the Maze, and also that he didn't have any weapons with him. If he ran into trouble, then he could only hope that Minho could hear him scream.

It was getting darker now, the thick, tall walls of the Maze blocking out most of the sunlight. He mentally chanted the directions of turns that he had taken in his previous mad dash as he continued on so that he didn't get lost.

That would be just great, he thought, getting lost while he was supposed to go find Newt. He sighed mentally- Newt was the kind of guy he'd never figure out. Sure, they were good friends, but it was one of those friendships that you just let run, until you come to a certain point and delve deeper into it and find out more about the other person than you'd bargained for.

Those friendships were like a trial and error kind of thing, where you go on your merry way until you hit a turning point, when you completely change directions but keep on going.

 _When did I become so poetic,_ he wondered, _perhaps that came from spending too much time with Newt?_

Alby stopped at a crossroad and looked around, using the time to catch his breath. Every path in the Maze looked similar and Alby had no idea how Minho and the other runners could memorise it so well. He sure couldn't.

On an impulse, he turned left and added that on the end of the mental chant he'd been working hard to keep up.

Anyone else would have dismissed Minho's suggestion that Newt had gone into the Maze as completely stupid, but he wasn't everyone. Alby knew Newt long enough to know that his mind worked in a way different from the other Gladers. For example, if there was a simple way to do something, Newt had to be the one to suggest a more complicated way. It wasn't even because he was an annoying person; it was just because his mind worked in a way that meant he couldn't even see the easy way as a feasible option to undertake.

Alby had always thought of himself as a simple guy. Sure, they saw him as a leader, but in truth, he was more of a facilitator in the Glade, breaking up fights and trying to make sure that everyone worked effectively. Why they saw that as leadership, he had no idea, it just seemed like the right thing to do for him- maybe that was why people said he was a nature leader.

The light was faint now, and Alby judged that he had about ten minutes at most to get his ass back to the door before he was stuck in here with the Grievers forever. But he still continued on, as if driven by some supernatural force- guided by its power.

That's why he wasn't as shocked as he would have been when he reached the body- Newt's body to be precise.

Sure, he dropped to the ground beside his friend, legs suddenly replaced by jelly, but no real heart-wrenching emotion flitted through his mind just yet. Only bitter numbness and a failure to accept what his eyes were showing him.

Whatever had gotten to him must have finished him off by dropping him from a great height.

As far as Alby could tell, Newt was half sprawled on his side, left leg positioned in a way that should be impossible. There was no blood around his body, and with his features so relaxed, Newt could have been sleeping.

No dead person should have an expression of such peace. Death was something undesirable, uncomfortable- that was what we were programed to know at a biological level, after all. If death suddenly became this great peace-giver, then there'd be a whole lot more corpses hanging around the place.

But as much as Alby wished, Newt didn't jump up, magically untwist his leg and tell him it was all some elaborate prank. He just lay still; defiant even now that he had departed- a challenge to the meaning of death itself.

Alby reached out slowly, feeling as if he was driving his hand through a wall of dense air. His hand finally gripped Newt's shoulder, not sure why he has chosen that position.

He barely had time to think about it, because the moment his hand came in contact, Alby jerked it back, as if burnt.

In a way, he had been. Instead of the cold skin he had expected, there were waves of heat rolling off Newt's skin, very unnatural for a person- especially one that should be dead. Looking closer, he could see the beads of sweat forming on his clammy forehead.

Oh shank, Newt was still alive.

"Newt?" He asked, panic making his voice echo strangely in the empty maze. "Can you hear me? Newt!"

Maybe he imagined it, but an eye seemed to have twitched on the too still face. That was enough for him.

Alby could cheer right now. He could probably cry too. For someone considered to be a stoic leader by so many, there weren't a lot of things that could make him even come close to shedding tears. But the stress of the last few moments- the realisation that he had nearly lost a brother… the even worse thought of having to break Minho's heart by reporting Newt's death, nearly drove him to tears there and now.

Beneath his now too tight grip, Newt moaned, startling Alby back into reality.

"Can you hear me?"

No answer this time… not even a groan. Alby assessed the situation. Newt was obviously seriously injured, but the lack of a pool of blood meant that even if bones were broken, they hadn't penetrated the skin. That was good, right?

He leaned in closer and waited, feeling the relief rush through him as he heard Newt inhaling weakly. He was making wheezing sounds that didn't bode well, but it was good enough that he was still alive, so Alby ignored the twinge of fear and decided that he was going to do his best to keep Newt that way.

They needed to get out of here. Now.

Alby fancied that he would hear the grinding sound of the door closing if they waited here a second longer. He slid an arm under Newt's back and hefted him over his shoulder, drawing a groan of agony from his semi-conscious friend.

"I've got you." He hoisted Newt up a bit higher, "Hang on. Keep breathing."

~0~

Minho paced nervously as he watched the other boys shift the half shaved tree trunk from the corner of his eye.

There were five of them- the strongest and most trustworthy guys he could find. They had gone over to the builder's area and laboured under his command to carry over the longest and thickest tree trunk they could find.

Lucky that Gally wasn't there or they'd have to answer a lot of questions and receive many suspicious glances. Or, Minho thought, I might just lose control and smash his face.

"Minho! We're finished!" Bert called out, waving at him.

Minho hurried over to survey the area and nodded absentmindedly. The huge log had been moved so that it now sat horizontally across the doorway of the Maze. When the doors closed, the log would hopefully act as a buffer, stopping it from closing until their friends got back. Five long ropes looped over the log were evenly spread along its length, and the moment Alby came back with Newt they would use the ropes to drag the log away from the door, giving it the chance to shut.

It was risky though. Minho felt the threads of doubt forming in his mind. What if the log wasn't strong enough, and buckled from the weight of the doors? What if they couldn't remove the log after, and the doors were jammed, leaving them all exposed to the Grievers?

Most importantly, how long did they dare to leave the door open to wait for Alby and Newt?

The five Gladers he had chosen were all runners, loyal to him and willing to listen to his leadership. He watched them sit down to rest, and only just registered that Bert was looking at him expectantly.

"What?"

"I said, do you think they'll get back in time, boss?"

"Yeah," Minho nodded, "Of course they will."

Bert fingered the knife at his side. "I'll take the others to get ready to defend themselves if necessary."

The leader of the runners felt a rush of gratefulness that there was at least someone who could think clearly. "Good thinking."

While Bert went to tell the other runners just that, Minho tried to calm his nerves. Alby was a very smart guy, and a responsible one as well. He wouldn't stop trying until he found their friend and brought him home.

Then again, that was something to do worry about as well. If he was wrong and Newt wasn't actually in the Maze, not only could they potentially loose one of their best people, but also waste valuable time looking for Newt, who for all they know, could be wandering around lost in the forest or something, which would be dangerous too.

Minho seriously had no idea what he would do if he didn't have his friends with him in the Maze. Before today, he had only given thought to the idea a few times. There was that one time when they had decided to send a Glader down the shaft from where their supplies came. When they heard him cry out, they had pulled him up; there was only half of him left.

The runner was sure he didn't sleep at all in the week after that. One of those nights, he had gotten up before the sunrise to find Alby sitting silently on the porch, a vacant expression on his face. Minho remembered going up to say hello, and then swallowing the words when he saw the silent tears running down his friend's face.

The second time was when a runner called Blake had been stuck in the maze overnight. He, Alby and Newt had yelled themselves hoarse that night, calling to him every five minutes or so. But something after midnight, Blake had screamed once and then fallen quiet. Minho organised a search party to get him out the next morning. But they found him almost immediately. Minho didn't even know that one's intestines were that long before that day.

That night, he woke up screaming, shirt matted with sweat. He'd dreamed that his hands were red with blood. Newt was leaning over him, shaking him. _It's alright,_ his friend said, watching him with sympathetic eyes, _it's not real._

Now Newt was in danger, and it was very real. Minho grinded his teeth together and tried to stay calm- he was famous for his stoic manner amongst the Gladers and as a leader he had to make sure that he was always the epitome of calm and hope.

That role was really hard to play today, and now the pressure had just upped a notch. Minho jerked back into reality as the sound of loud clogs turning slowly. The other runners cried out in alarm as the doors of the Maze begin to groan, the unnatural metal structure grinding along the ground.

What was normally the sound of the beginning of another safe night was now like a curse.

"Stay back!" He called out. But despite that, both he and the other runners moved forward to see if the log would work as a brace, and more importantly what would happen if it didn't.

Time seemed to slow down as the metal jaws finally came into contact with the log. Finally, the metal came to a stop, the wood of the log buckling under the pressure.

The other runners cheered a bit and Minho couldn't help but smile a bit too. He glanced at the rapidly darkening sky and sobered up.

"How long are we waiting, boss?" Don queried, knuckles white where he gripped his weapon of choice- a long pole tipped with a knife.

Bert piped up again, "About twenty minutes at most, I think, until the Grievers wake up."

Minho squinted into the semi darkness of the long corridor and prayed that his friends would be back soon.

"I don't know how long it's going to take. We will wait here until they come back."

"With due respect, boss," Don hesitated, "We can't risk-"

Minho glared at him, "We will wait until they come back." Out of the corner of his eye, he could see two figures hurrying towards him now and he moved to meet them. I hoped it was the med-jacks, and not some nosy person. Like Gally, he added mentally. It seemed that he was right and the two of them broke into a slight jog, going slowly in the dark.

"Jeff! Clint!" He waved as one of them stumbled on the slightly uneven ground, "I'm over here."

Clint, the one who had stumbled, glanced at him, "Minho. Hey."

The two person Glader medical team came to a stop before him, taking in the slight of the wedged open door silently. "What's going on?" Clint asked. "What are you doing with the doors?"

Minho didn't like the accusatory tone he was hearing. "Don't talk to me like that," he swept an arm over the scene at the doors, "If you asses hadn't let Newt run off, we wouldn't need to do this?"

"What on earth has Newt running off got to do with you wedging the freakin' doors to let out the Grievers?" Clint was unfazed by his aggressiveness. "Where's Alby? What's with all this secrecy, telling us to come down when it's dark and stuff?"

Bert came over as well, "Alby, you ask? Well, he's in the maze, finding Newt! And he wouldn't be if you shucks keep a proper eye on him!"

Clint opened his mouth to retort, but Jeff pulled him behind and smiled apologetically. "Look, guys… Clint and I were occupied with sorting the medical supplies and we really didn't expect Newt was going to go walking when he was so sick." He shot his partner a warning look, "Can we please just be filled in on what's happening now?"

The leader of the runners exhaled slowly and decided to forgive the two for now- they didn't this is happen as more than he did, and they might even be needed when Alby got back with Newt.

So he backtracked, "Alby went in to find Newt, and they're not back yet. You guys had to come down in secret because we didn't want anyone-"

"Minho!"

He spun around.

The other runners were waving and point now. From the gap between the Maze doors, a large figure was appearing. Minho didn't even bother finish the sentence he was on, instead broke into a full sprint towards the doors.

"Alby! Newt!"

~0~

Alby really didn't think he could manage step further.

But then that thought had been running through his mind for what seemed like eternity and he was still stumbling along. Perhaps it was his imagination, but Newt seemed to be getting heavier with every step.

Funny how you never notice how heavy your friend might be until he becomes a dead weight hanging over your shoulder, Alby chuckled to himself silently and keep on going.

A few more turns and then he should be out. There was no way that the doors would still be open, but it was always good to hope. A few minutes ago, he had heard the unmistakable grinding of the doors closing. It was a sound he was familiar with, having heard it every evening, for the last few years.

It was also funny how one began to treasure the dumbest things when it's the last time you'll experience them. He sighed and shifted Newt up a bit further up on his shoulder. From where his friend's legs dangled at his front, the left one seemed to be frighteningly flexible, Alby could only hope all this movement wasn't causing Newt any pain.

Then he laughed quietly, still shuffling along- they were both going to die. But only he'll feel the pain of being killing alive. He had to envy Newt for that.

Never mind that now, there were worse ways to die then in the process of saving a friend.

The surroundings were becoming familiar now and as he turned the corner, he mentally braced himself to see the dark shape of a closed door. But then, an unbelievable sight met his eyes.

 _The door is still open,_ his shocked mental voice said, _we're not going to die._

He articulated that thought to the possible unconscious boy slung over one shoulder, "We're not going to die! Newt! Thank god!"

He broke into a run, desperately hoping that this miracle was going to last a few more seconds. "Guys! Hey! Hey!"

The few figures at the door started to shout back in surprise and shock, and it wasn't long before a dark shape was rushing towards him. 

"Oh shuck," Minho pulled Newt off his shoulder, ignoring his protests and carried their friend bridal style, "Come on! Alby, come on! Quick!"

They dashed for the exit, fancying that they could hear the clanking and clicking of Grievers behind them. As they passed through, Alby saw the large log they had placed across the entrance to hold the doors in place. He tried to leap over it instinctively and strong hands caught him on the other side when he stumbled.

Bert pushed him away from the doors, "Get back! Alby, move!"

The runner dropped the weapon he was holding, "Get to the ropes! Pull!"

The five Gladers, all runners dug their feet into the ground and hauled with all their strength. Minho gently placed Newt's limp body on the ground, where Clint and Jeff swooped in.

The leader of the runners snatched the end of Bert's rope, "One! Two! Heave! Again!" The ropes stretched taut dangerously and Alby contributed what meagre strength he had left by grabbing onto a rope as well.

"One! Two! Heave!"

With a spray of splinters and a screech sound, the log was jerked back. The runners fell on their backs, shaking with exertion and fear, but cheered as the door began to grind closed.

Alby felt like celebrating, but Jeff was waving him over. The med-jack's face was grave.

"We need to get him back. We've got stuff there, but he's in pretty bad shape."

Minho was besides their injured friend now, "How bad is it?"

Clint looked genuinely worried, previous argument forgotten, "A few bruises here and here, but his left leg is fractured. Without actual medical treatment, there's not much we can do."

"Do what you can." Alby found himself saying, "Please."

~0~

Clint and Jeff looked grim standing by Newt's unmoving body.

Alby could see that his left leg was now wrapped to the thigh by a white cast, and raised by a pile of sheets. The rest of his body, excluding his face, was covered by a sheet, and reminded Alby uncomfortable of a morgue.

Newt was still unnaturally pale, but he seemed to be comfortable enough, chest raising and falling with slow breaths.

"We've done all we can, but with that leg threatening to become a compound fracture any moment, the best we can is to set it quickly and bandage it up," Clint said, "I'm sorry, but it's up to him now."

Minho was kneeling by the bed now, so that he was at eye level with Newt. Alby swallowed thickly.

"Is he going to be okay?" The leader of the Gladers asked softly.

Jeff shrugged hopelessly, "There's only so much we can do without proper medical equipment. When those bones mend and he gets over the shock, Newt will be fine. The only thing we can help with is the pain."

"Is that all you can say?" Minho demanded. He meant to sound angry, but there was no bite to his words.

The Med-jack waved a hand over the row upon row of morphine in neat syringes. "Dude, that's all they give to us. And some cast material and bandages and freakin' cough syrup-"

"Will he be able to run again?"

Clint swapped the wet cloth on Newt's forehead and winced at its heat, "We don't think so. His leg is messed up pretty badly, he'll be lucky to walk again."

Minho swore loudly and hit the bed with a fist. Newt murmured in distress at the sudden movement.

"Newt?"

The other boys hurried closer, crowding the bed.

"Can you hear me?" Minho repeated again.

There was no answer, and the two med-jacks moved away again. "He probably won't wake up for a few days. That was a serious injury." Jeff turned to go and then stopped, as if he remembered something, "What happened anyways?"

Alby glanced at Minho and then at the Med-jack. A feeling of dread was settling slowly in his stomach.

"He can tell us when he wakes up."

~0~

 **I hope you all enjoyed this chapter! Once again, thanks for bearing with me and waiting for the update.**

 **Please leave me a review if you have the time- I would very much appreciate it, and might even write the next part faster.**

 **H.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Part 3 of the story: 'Rise & Fall'. A tale of Newt's attempted suicide, told in the most realistic, detailed and emotive way that I can write. I hope you enjoy the story.**

 **Since this is the last part, I'd really appreciate you guys leaving me a review or a favourite if you did enjoy my writing. I hope you can all enjoy some of my other stories too, if you are a reader in those fandoms.**

 **~0~**

"I hope he's okay," Alby whispered as they followed Jeff inside. Even though, they had walked through the door of the sickbay hundreds of times before, this time there was a cloud of restless anticipation surrounding their entrance.

Minho grunted in confirmation- not because he was unenthusiastic, but because he had a bad feeling about this. The circumstances of Newt's injury were just too strange to be brushed aside, and he had been thinking about possible explanation for the past few hours, as they waited anxiously for any news of their friend's waking.

He still hadn't found one yet.

Jeff whispered in an undertone, "I'm not sure about 'okay', but he didn't throw a tantrum when we told him you guys were going."

"I guess that's better than nothing?" Alby said.

Newt was propped up by a bunch of pillows on the bed, with Clint was sitting on the bed beside his, hopelessly trying to engage him in conversation. Their friend was looking decidedly better, but was still pale, with clear beads of sweat gleaming on his hairline.

Clint stood up and smiled carefully as the three arrivals approached carefully, "Finally! Now that you guys are here, we are actually tell you the extent of Newt's injuries. Sit down. Please?"

So Alby sat down next to Clint on the bed, and Minho was left to awkwardly perch next to Newt. He was careful to not unbalance the bed or aggravate his friend's injuries, but Newt still clenched his teeth against the pain, even from that slight movement.

Jeff came over as well. "Basically, to reiterate what we said from yesterday… He's got a few scrapes and bruises here and there, but the most serious injury is his left leg. The main bone has been damaged. We've set it for now. But honestly, with the poor medical resources we have; only time is going to heal it."

Suddenly aware that Newt hadn't said anything the whole time, Alby tried to engage him in the conversation, "You gave all of us a scare. How are you feeling?"

The injured young man turned away from the onlookers and remained silent.

"He's probably not feeling up to talking," Clint jumped to his defence, and to reassure that rest, "He still has a fever and from general deduction, broken bones are painful and gives the average Joe a pretty bad mood."

"Speaking of that leg," Jeff said, "He won't be running again. Minho, you'd best get started on finding a new runner. Newt's lucky to escape whatever injured him with his leg still attached- he's lucky if he gets to walk again."

Minho nodded and then scanned his friend's carefully neutral face, before resting a hand on his shoulder.

"What happened to you, Newt? Out there in the Maze?"

Newt shrugged off his hand and turned around abruptly. He fixed the Keeper of the Runners with such a glare that Minho nearly fell off the bed.

"I- Are you alright?"

"Yes, I'm as fine as I bloody can be…" Newt said in a monotone

Jeff grabbed Clint by the arm, "Time to go!"

Alby hurried across the small gap between the beds as soon as the two medics tripped their way out of the room. "Newt? What happened out there?"

"I jumped."

"You _jumped_?" Minho couldn't help but repeat, "Are you freaking kidding me? You jumped?!" He didn't realise that his voice had risen to a shout by the end of the sentence.

If one had asked him to describe what he was feeling at the moment in time, Minho wouldn't have been able to. It was like a mixture of fear, anger and confusion- a wave of emotion that slammed into him, made his chest ache with a passion and made him want to smash his fist into the nearest face.

Unfortunately, the nearest faces were his best friends, so Minho limited himself to thumping the mattress with his fist.

Newt gasped from the pain caused by the sudden movement, "What are you doing?"

At the same time, Alby reached out a hand to restrain him. But the former was too slow, Minho was already up and pacing around, feeling as if he was going to rip out his hair from frustration at any minute.

"Why? What on earth made you do such a thing?" He demanded, "Do you know how lucky you are to be alive?"

"Lucky?" Newt repeated quietly.

Then he lunged for Minho's throat, "Lucky!?" He screeched now, voice several octaves higher than any of the boys had thought was possible.

He missed the runner's throat by a few centimetres, but grasped tightly on to his shirt instead, dragging his friend down next to the bed on one knee.

"Don't you ever dare to say that again," Newt hissed.

Minho ripped himself out of his grasp and shot up angrily, "You shank! What right do you have-"

"It's my bloody life!"

"What about us!?" Minho roared back, "Did you think about what we would have thought?"

There was the crux of the issue, he realised at last, even though his subconscious had already make him voice it. The main thing wasn't really whether Newt personally thought life was worth living or not, and while saying so made him sound heartless, the truth was that he was worried about whether Newt thought their friendship so worthless that he hadn't even thought to say goodbye or to ask for their opinion on what he was about to do.

The fact hurt a lot.

Minho could understand the kind of helplessness that drove Newt to do what he did, had even felt it himself once in a while, but every time, it was his duty to the other Gladers and the hope which came from their companionship- the only tangible thing in this messed up world, which kept him going.

It made every breath worth it.

How could Newt have deemed it so insignificant, and just throw it all away?

Alby jumped in, deeming the situation out of hand enough, "That's enough, Minho."

But said boy was beyond angry now, and Alby had to restrain him physically, "I'll teach him a lesson! Think he can just throw his life away like that-"

Newt was half rising out of the bed now, "It's my life! I can do whatever the hell I want!"

"Selfish bastard! Let me at him, Alby," Minho pushed against his friend's arm, which pinned his arms to his side.

"Look at you! Coming to attack a cripple!" Newt gloated, "I'm bloody proud of you! Come on!" The former runner was shifting himself higher against the pillows and becoming more and more agitated as well.

At any other time, Minho would have just backed down and went away until he calmed down. But the incident at hand and Newt's careless attitude made his blood boil. Adding to that, his pride was urging him on.

Alby looked conflicted and waved a hand at Newt, as if to tell him to stay down before he injured himself further. "Stay down!" Meanwhile, he pushed Minho away from the bed, "You stay back!"

But Minho wasn't finished yet, "Fine! Newt, you listen here- it's your life, you're right about that. But we don't just live for ourselves. Get that into your thick head! I thought we all meant something to you, but it seems like we were wrong."

"Get away from me!"

Alby looked back and forth, "Come on, guys-"

"I will go now, and I won't be back. Newt, you think _you're_ angry at me? Well, I'm ashamed to have you as a friend!"

"That's enough! Newt, he doesn't mean it-"

"Leave."

The tone was so unlike the previous one that both Minho and Alby turned and stared. Newt had nearly sunk into the pillows, eyes cast down, and staring at the covers so intently that Minho was afraid that they were going to catch fire.

"Leave. Please." Newt's words shook on the second word, voice mangled in a way that Minho had never heard before. Now even when the last Glader died had he heard such raw and desperate emotion put into his friend's words.

His closed his mouth and shrugged off Alby, "Fine. Goodbye, Newt."

He hadn't meant for the words to sound so final, but now that he'd said them, his ego wouldn't let him back down.

"Minho…" Alby's head switched from Newt to him and then back again, "Newt… Don't do this. We just want the best for you."

Newt met his eyes with an unreadable emotion on his face. "I just want to be left alone now."

~0~

When he woke again, it was darker than before.

There was light streaming through the window opposite to where he lay. Light from the… moon, yes- that was where it came from.

Newt composed himself as best as he could under the circumstances and tried to ignore the way fever was fogging his mind. It was hard enough to think before, but now it seemed like his brain was being melted by the heat.

He tried to move, but his limbs wouldn't obey- or perhaps couldn't? Was he finally dying? Was his heart giving out at last?

Was it selfish to hope so?

Newt sucked in a breath and exhaled carefully

No, he wasn't dying. If anything, the world around him was becoming more focused. That didn't seem like a symptom of death. The window through which moonlight entered, the covers on his lower body, and the sharp pain from his injured leg were all becoming clearer and clearer.

All of a sudden, the events of the day rushed up to slam him in the chest with an awful feeling of guilt. Abruptly, he wanted to get up and find his friends to apologise. He tried to laugh, but broke into a fit of coughing instead. He was so pathetic that he couldn't even kill himself properly- now he was a bloody cripple and an utter failure as well.

He'd be a burden to all the other Gladers.

If things felt hopeless before, as least he could pace around the place as he worried- now he was stuck in a bed. But, he couldn't brace himself to try and die again. Honestly, before Minho had pointed it out, it was true that he hadn't given serious thought as to how his friends might react to his death. Now he was going to think about it whenever the idea of suicide popped up in his mind.

God. What a bloody good friend he was.

Newt shuffled his head around, trying to find a cool place on the pillow. It was all too hot suddenly, and he wanted a drink to soothe his burning throat.

As he turned slightly, he would see a dark shape stirring out of the corner of his eye. Newt panicked momentarily- it there was danger he wouldn't be able to alert anyone to the fact. Then he would be dead, and his friends would blame him again. Damn, that would be bad.

But as the 'thing' came closer, he could see that it was in fact Minho. His friend's hair was mussed up and his eyes looked red. Newt shook his head- his eyes were surely deceiving him. His friend had made it very clear that he didn't want anything to do with him anymore, and while it hurt, Newt was sure that Minho wasn't the type of guy to break his promises.

Maybe he was hallucinating? Yes, that must be the case. Newt cursed his mind for getting his hopes up and groaned as a wave of pain overwhelmed him.

The hallucination knelt down beside him, but didn't say anything.

Instead Newt felt a slid a hand behind him, support his entire weight with one arm. The suffocatingly warm and sweat-drenched pillow disappeared from behind him, and was replaced with one that was cool against his back. Illusion-Minho eased him back again, and he sank blissfully into the cold softness.

He wanted to ask for water, but his throat was too parched to make a sound. It was frustrating to feel his mouth move, but not hear anything.

~0~

Minho was completely stressed out. Nearly everything that he had never really considered had come to past in the last day or so, and he had no experience in dealing with life-changing situations at all.

Now, sitting here in the semi-darkness with a possibly crazy, but definitely suicidal friend, Minho dreaded that his day was about to get even worse.

Even after resting for the whole day, Newt didn't look much better. There were still waves of heat coiling from his body, which he hoped didn't mean an infection had set in.

Even now, his friend was mouthing something at him. He wasn't sure if Newt even recognised him. Or maybe he doesn't want to talk to you. The Keeper of the Runners had to lean close to hear a faint syllable.

"…ter…"

 _Water?_

Trusting his instincts, Minho picked up the bowl of water beside him and as he lifted the bowl of water carefully to Newt's lips, he couldn't help but remember the events of the day. His friend's stubbornness had made him angry, but he also regretted his own words, which were largely spoken out of bitterness.

"Is this…a dream?"

The whisper snapped him back to the present. Newt was trying to raise himself into a sitting position, and failing miserably.

"Whoa… what are you doing?" He clenched his friend's shoulders and forced him down, "I look away from one second and you're ready to lead an army or something?"

Newt chuckled breathily, "This isn't real…A figment of my imagination… I wish Minho was actually here…"

"Err… I am here?" There was no good answer to that previous statement except a cautious retort.

Newt looked satisfied all of a sudden, as if he had completely forgotten what he'd just said, "Listen… I'm sorry about what I said earlier. You and Alby are my best friends. I sound so sappy right now…bloody hell."

"It's fine. Don't talk now-"

"No." The word was firm.

Newt coughed, "I need to tell you…if I'm going to die."

Minho couldn't help but smile gently, "You're not going to die. It's just the fever talking."

The injured runner laughed half-heartedly, the sound riding on a breath, "I know- But, just in case. Yeah?"

"You will live." Minho says so much conviction it is as if the thought can be forced into Newt's mind.

"Yes." Newt said, "Maybe I will live. Living isn't that bad."

"Promise me you won't ever try to change that."

It wasn't as if a few words could actually prevent such a thing from happening again. Newt's life was still his own, but Minho needed to hear at least the promise voiced out. After all, if he still refused to let go the idea of suicide, they couldn't watch him every minute of the day.

Newt stared down at his mangled leg for a moment. He nodded slowly in confirmation.

"Alright."

"Good. Good." The two boys clasped hands.

"Now, go tell Minho." Newt murmured as he sank back into the folds of sleep

The Keeper of the Runners shook his head and sighed- This was going to be a difficult recovery.

But they would get through it anyways- he was sure of it.

Life in the Glade was hard, but at least they had each other.

Minho couldn't remember what life was like outside of this damned place, but he was absolutely sure that if friendships like the ones here didn't exist out there, then escape would still be meaningless.

For now, there was nothing more to do, other than to hope for the best. He sat back down again and watched the moonlight stream through the window, at the same time feeling a sense of contentment that was so out of place, and yet so very understandable.

~0~

 **Thanks for staying and supporting me, dear readers. Since this is now a completely story, I'd much appreciate you guys leaving behind a review or favourite, so I can learn from my mistakes (along with bathing in some glory).**

 **Regards,**

H.


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